


Perennial

by silkinsilence



Series: Moicy Week 2019 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, F/F, Light Angst, Moicy Week, Moicy Week 2019, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍Moira makes a habit of bringing flowers when she comes to call. Angela can't get her to say why.‍
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Moicy Week 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566913
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	Perennial

**Author's Note:**

> For Moicy Week Day 2: Spring/Winter

The first time, Moira brought a single white carnation.

It was carried neatly in the pocket of her wine-purple button-down, and Angela thought it was simply an ostentatious addition to her wardrobe. But when they were done, and Moira had gone, and Angela pulled herself reluctantly from the sheets, she found the flower lying on her desk. She lifted the blossom with careful fingers and inhaled.

The flower had little fragrance—picked too long ago, she supposed—but it smelled faintly of Moira’s cologne. She stood there for longer than she would care to admit, breathing in the scent until she couldn’t distinguish it any longer.

The next was a hibiscus, large and gorgeous and the colors of a sunset. Moira proffered it in thin fingers and then, when Angela’s focus moved from the flower to her face, she carefully tucked it behind her ear. Her nails trailed down her jaw and lifted her chin, and then their mouths were crashing together and Angela forgot the flower as more carnal pleasures took her.

Later, she discovered torn petals and pollen smeared across her sheets, and she wondered if that was what she looked like too, a pretty thing ravaged by a force beyond its control.

Eventually she worked up the courage to ask, when Moira brought her a bouquet and Angela was forced to realize that Moira was at the very least ordering them from off-base if not going off herself, and she didn’t like that thought.

The flowers seemed to speak of something other than what their relationship was. They ignored or barely tolerated each other in public, frequently lost their tempers at each other, and spent most of their time in the same room bickering. It was true that the fighting had recently devolved into fucking, but that had very little to do with liking each other and more to do with the spark that had endured, patient, since they met, stoked by each argument and every time she was forced to listen to Moira’s drawl and look at her face.

“Why do I bring you flowers?” Moira said incredulously, somehow making the question sound ridiculous just by repeating it. Her hand wrapped around Angela’s waist to bring their hips together, and an answer didn’t seem so important any longer.

“Yes,” Angela murmured, though her hands were fussing with Moira’s tie and her attention was further diverted by the thigh spreading her legs apart to press torturously against Angela’s center. Through her pants and underwear the friction was much too little, and she was hungry. She wanted them both naked and her riding Moira’s thigh properly in her cramped dorm bed, smearing her wetness across all that pale skin…

“Good girls deserve flowers, don’t they?” Moira said into her neck, but the words became kisses and licks and _bites._ Angela moaned and let herself fall back onto her bed, pulling Moira down by her shirt and holding her head in place by the hair.

More.  _More…_

“Oh, that’s right, though,” Moira continued. Her hands made quick work of Angela’s blouse and bra and then toyed carelessly with her breasts. “You’re not a good girl. You’re a dirty slut who texts me every week and begs me to fuck her.”

Angela couldn’t respond except in moans of affirmation as she spread her legs to accommodate Moira between them, as she _ached_ with her need to be touched.

“And the only flower you’re concerned with is this one.”

Moira’s hand was in her panties, a practiced finger collecting nectar from between Angela’s lips, and then Moira had nothing else to say.

Once again, when they were done and Moira had gone, Angela stood and wandered over to her desk. The wetness coating the inside of her thighs felt cool and uncomfortably sticky now as she moved.

The orchid was still there, a beautiful single stem. Moira had even brought a little jar filled with water. Angela didn’t know how long it would last; her inward-facing dorm didn’t even get sunlight. She could bring it to the lab where they had grow lights, but she didn’t want to. She wanted it here.

The flowers were cyclame the last time, the time when Ana was six feet under and the organization that employed both of them was pulling apart at the seams. Moira’s face was stony and her words brusque, and Angela was adrift in a sea of purposeless grief that left her desperately grasping for anything she could hold onto.

Moira made a good thing.

But for once the harsh words they exchanged weren’t softened by kisses.

“I don’t want to hear how little you think of me.” Moira’s face was etched with contempt. “All your hatred of who I am and what I do never extends to when you send me your coy little texts, does it?”

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Angela gritted out, cold and angry, her eyes fixed on the monstrous arm that was proof of Moira’s self-experimentation. What was she doing? What was Blackwatch doing? How deep did the well go down?

“And if you knew you never would have kept my number? You told me exactly what you thought of me before; you just forgot long enough to get off. But I’ve no interest serving as a vibrator to someone who insists she so ardently loathes me.”

Moira stood. She was tall, and the ceiling low, and she seemed to take up all the space. It occurred to Angela what was about to happen and she wanted to reach out or find pretty words to smooth over the argument, but she didn’t.

“You know why I bring flowers?” Moira asked, jutting her chin at the pot on Angela’s desk. “For something to stay the night. And they’re prettier than I am, aren’t they, Doctor Ziegler?”

She closed the door sharply behind her, leaving just Angela and the little flowers, which in the dim light already seemed to be wilting.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always greatly appreciated!


End file.
